OPINION – ANGELA EPSTEIN: It’s getting beyond parody at this point.
What was one optional now feels obligatory and I’m getting sick of it (Image: Getty)
Do you ever feel like the word “cashpoint” has been splashed across your forehead when you weren’t looking? I ask because these days it’s almost impossible to pay for a supermarket shop, use a self-checkout, buy petrol or order a coffee without a conscience-pricking card machine turning a simple outing into a moral crusade. Either by suggesting you need to contribute to service. Or donate to charity. What was once optional – dropping a few coins in a tin or slipping a couple of quid into a grateful palm – now feels obligatory. And frankly I’m getting really sick of it.
Only the other day, after meeting a friend for a rushed cuppa and raisin scone, I went to settle the bill only to be asked by the machine (real people are cowards) how much I wanted to tip. With a waitress, who was hardly the picture of exhaustion – having filled a teapot and carried our tray over – now standing over me, I panic-punched a 20% option. It was only afterwards I thought: for what?
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Yet call it vulnerability or embarrassment we – or rather I – pay up. Just as I did when I took a black cab yesterday. The machine suggested a gratuity for the 15-minute journey home – a service I was already paying for. This wasn’t a taxi ride; it was a fully formed guilt trip.
How did we get to a point when each day we’re asked to pay a little bit more? A ritual aggravated by the fact it happens on repeat since it accompanies many of our habitual activities.
It’s a culture perhaps best reflected in the rise of what’s variably known as checkout charity or point-of-sale fundraising: where a screen or cashier asks if you’d like to add a small amount for a nominated charity.
No problem perhaps when it happens once or twice – after all these micro donations are an easy way in a cashless society to give to a good cause. But when it kicks in with every latte to go, a hurriedly purchased bag of sugar, or a jar of vitamins (thank you Holland & Barret) it’s aggravating and annoying.
Before social justice warriors start mobilising to accuse me of being a mean spirited spendthrift (or worse), this is not about being tight. I’m always happy to give to charity. Since I know how many causes are suffering during the cost-of-living crisis.
Equally I appreciate the flex response to reward the hard-working porter who has shlepped my bags or beautician who has delivered a gorgeous manicure on previously care worn hands.
I have no problem dropping coins in a busker’s hat (even if they are murdering Bridge over Troubled Water since at least they’re trying.) And I don’t hesitate when asked by friends, family or colleagues to support a sponsored event. Meanwhile I think it’s wonderful how pubs constantly host fundraisers or if a supermarket runs a cross store campaign which as shoppers we can become invested in.
It is the sense of being put on the spot that I object to. In the case of checkout charity donations, what if these are not organisations of my choice? Maybe I prefer to give spare money to a local community cause. In one coffee shop chain the other day the screen simply flashed “give 25p to charity?” – not even bothering to explain who it was for. (If it’s anything to do with Greta Thunberg then no thanks).
And even if we do give when paying for our bag of spuds, will 100% of the funds raised at the till reach the charity chosen by the place? Impossible to investigate such questions when there’s a queue forming and you feel the slow crawl of burning shame at even considering not handing over a donation.
I suppose at least requests for donations at the till are unashamedly delivered. Sometimes the act of tipping is more stealthily done – automatically added to the bill as a service charge of 12.5% or more.
When this happened to me recently at a restaurant in London and I politely challenged the lack of consent she asked if I wanted the extra cost removed? Given two of her colleagues were standing sentry and my own chicken-like levels of courage, I mumbled it was fine. But I resented having my choice taken away from me. When I invoice for work I don’t smuggle in a few extra quid. Why should anyone else?
It goes without saying that we should strive to be a kind and caring society, and to help those who are less fortunate. But let philanthropy be spontaneous and meaningful. Not something demanded alongside a packet of toilet rolls or a cup of coffee – one that you could probably make better at home.